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Pervert
by Mr If 


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Authorís Note

Welcome to the third part in what Iíve decided to call The Entertainment Trilogy.

Publishing a set of three ebooks was never my intention. It just so happens that Entertainment, Violence is the Answer and Pervert cover three specific periods in my life, each written shortly after the actual events.  

This one rounds things off nicely because, as Iíll go on to explain, Pervert is the last book Iíll ever write.  

Everything youíre about to read happened in real life. That includes the particularly unbelievable bits, occurring in chapters 10 and 15. 

Iím not too bothered if youíre unconvinced Ė I just thought Iíd point out that this is a work of non-fiction. Iíve changed a few names and sexed-up the dialogue a little, just to make it a little more presentable.  

For reasons that will become clear, this book is dedicated to my mother. 


1. 

This account begins with me having sex with a Nazi.  In the interests of honesty, it only seems fair to mention it. 

Donít get me wrong Ė I wasnít having sex with her because she was a Nazi. For the purposes of our brief, meaningless exchange, the ladyís belief system didnít matter. 

Maybe I wouldíve thought twice if she hadnít been so attractive. Despite my utterly indiscriminate taste in human flesh, I had to admit, this woman was truly exceptional. 

Shortly after meeting in the hotel bar, she casually slipped into the conversation that the Government ought to combat overpopulation by killing all homosexuals.  She said it with such sweetness, and with lips of such perfection that even as a bisexual man, I began to wonder if she had a point. Accordingly, I nicknamed her The Fit Bigot. 

Fit Ė thereís a disgusting British colloquialism for you. Itís a label designed to prevent us from expressing an interest in anyone other than the young, the skinny and the pretty. Still, it seemed the most appropriate term. The Fit Bigot was both attractive and athletic Ė equipped with a full set of pert body parts.

Pert.  Thereís another word I actively despise. The word sickens me.  Itís the language of perverts. 

I donít like the word pervert either Ė but only because itís so often misapplied.  

As far as Iím concerned, perverts are the fuckwits who worship conventional beauty.  

Sex with the Nazi ground on until it became rather boring. 

The fun wouldíve finished sooner, but Ė gentleman that I am Ė I was holding out until she climaxed. 

She needed to enjoy the experience far more than I did.  She was married, by her own admission. She was going to have an orgasm if it fucking killed her. 

Iíve been doing this long enough to appreciate what goes on in the mind of a cheater. If youíre playing away from home, itís vitally important that you enjoy it, otherwise youíve risked everything for nothing. Your marriage could be destroyed for the sake of a crap shag. 

This is part of the appeal of fucking married people. They go about it with such enthusiasm and determination.   

Despite this benefit, and in spite of The Fit Bigotís simplistic sexiness, it occurred to me that I needed to stop. Not then and there, of course Ė that wouldíve been impolite. 

I didnít need to stop having sex with bad people Ė I canít be expected to conduct a morality check on every scumbag I sleep with. I needed to stop having sex with married people. It really wasnít doing me any good.  




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